Chasing the Dream: Dream Series, Book 3 (2 page)

On the long drive, my mother chatted excitedly, my father was nearly silent, still preoccupied with whatever project was on his desk at work. Mom talked about Manhattan, places to go, things to keep in mind, and warned me about eating from any food establishment that didn’t have a placard in the window with an ‘A’ grade from the city health inspectors. All Dad told me was to stay away from the subways and guys in limousines. He even promised me a hefty allowance to pay for cabs. I wasn’t sure about what his was deal with guys in limousines. Mom had an old friend in New York who used limos a lot—Jack Stevens. He was a great guy. He was the friend who helped me get the interview for the internship, and he knew whom I needed to talk to at NYU for my transfer.

The strange part of the long drive was the interaction between my parents. Not that my parents were typically talkative with each other, but they seemed more distant than usual. Last month my mom had taken that spur of the moment trip to New York, something about self-discovery. Dad was left at home to fend for himself. After a few weeks, Mom came around and went home. I guess my dad was still kind of bugged over her little adventure. But watching the two of them now, I wondered if Mom’s trip to New York was because of some fight they’d had and still hadn’t fully resolved. Mom had given me some cryptic advice about waiting to get married, living on your own, standing on your own two feet. But Mom
did
go home. Dad should be grateful.

The whole marriage advice was kind of out of left field as far as I was concerned. In fact, it was so far down on
my
list of things to do, a big part of me wondered if I’d ever get around to it. And it wasn’t just this whole Dickwad Danny situation. I wanted to be single, to travel the world without tethers. Since my interview for this internship, I’d started thinking about all of the exciting things a career in PR and broadcasting could offer. I hoped to make some connections with the broadcasting department and maybe I could be an international correspondent. Of course I’d have to study politics or international finance or something in addition to the communications. Or maybe I could be a reporter for the Olympics and every couple of years jet off and cover the events. The possibilities were endless, but I was hoping to learn more in the coming couple months. After the whole fucked up bit with Dickwad Danny, I resolved to take off dating for at least a year anyway.

And speaking of marriage, I noticed that Mom’s wedding rings were gone, and in their place was a sparkly new infinity ring. It was a beautiful piece and I was impressed with my dad’s taste in jewelry. Maybe he’d gotten it for her when she went home?

As we got closer to New York, my mom got unusually quiet, and my dad incredibly agitated. In fact, if he were a cursing kind of guy, he’d be swearing with every word in the book. When my dad pulled up to the apartment my mom lived in last month, she practically sprang out of the car. Entering the building, Mom re-introduced me to the doorman, Dominic, and then we went upstairs to re-acquaint with the apartment. Along the way, Mom pointed out the neighbors, specifically Kevin’s and Mrs. Hanlon’s apartments. I wanted to knock on Kevin’s door and say ‘hi,’ but Mom said that he probably wasn’t around. The tattooed, muscled, Latin man with the American name, Kevin Parker, was going to be living down the hall from me!

When I visited my mom back in April, he took me to a Luke Bryan concert, which was amazing, followed by a little touristy turn in Times Square. Even though he insisted that there was nothing going on between him and my mom, I think Kevin wanted things to be more-than-friends. However, my mom was a married woman, and Kevin was a super-upstanding guy. He would never get involved with someone who was married or in a committed relationship. He was the total opposite of Dickwad Danny. Personally, I wouldn’t mind if Kevin took an attraction to me. I was more mature than the average nineteen-year old, and he was only twenty-nine. That’s just ten years. Kinda sexy, if you ask me. The added years have to mean added maturity. Besides, Kevin and I really hit it off when we were at the concert. I was hoping that now that my mother wasn’t around, having gone back to dad, he would loosen up and I could light a little spark with him while I was here.

I felt her reasoning for not stopping by his apartment was lame, but one glance at my dad, and I decided to let it lie.

During that visit last month, I chatted with my dad to assure him that Mom was doing great. I told him, maybe stupidly, that her neighbor, Kevin was super hot and was really nice to Mom, helping her out…and that maybe Kevin was a bit sweet on her. I had hoped that it would encourage my dad to make a move and apologize to mom for whatever stupid, bone-headed, man thing he’d done inspiring my mom to transverse the continent for her hiatus from Napa. And maybe it did work—Mom went home.

After we lugged all of my stuff up to the apartment and put fresh sheets on the bed, Mom brought me to the small grocery store which was just a half block away on East Eightieth and Third, to stock the fridge and cupboards. By the time we returned to the apartment, I was beyond ready to crash. The late nights cramming for final exams and the long car ride had wiped me out.

“Kevin and Mrs. Hanlon are right down the hall if you need
anything
,” my mom said hugging me tightly. “But call me, or text, every day. Okay?” Dad just stood nearby, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Okay, okay,” I said, pulling from her and hugging my dad. He was taking this really hard.

When Dad was finished giving me a really nice hug, and making me feel bad about regretting that he’d come along, he pulled back and fished his wallet out of his pocket. He thumbed out several twenties and pressed them into my hand. “For cab fare,” he said with a stern look. “Figure out how much you’ll need monthly, and I’ll set up an account for you.”

“Thanks,” I said with a smile and tucked the money into my pocket. “Are you guys flying back to Napa tomorrow? Want to get breakfast tomorrow morning?” I asked.

Dad shook his head. “My flight is in,” he started, checking his watch, “four hours. I—uh,
we
, should go,” he said, agitation thick in his tone.

“Okay. Well, I’m ready to crawl into bed and crash,” I said back. “Thanks for everything guys. I promise, I’ll check in regularly. I’ll be good. I’ll eat good food. I’ll watch out for strange men in limos,” I joked with my dad, who didn’t look like he appreciated my joke. Oh well, he was never a very funny one. My brothers and I must have gotten our sense of humor from our mom.

We said our last goodbyes and I closed the door. About ten seconds later there was a knock on the door. I opened the door surprised to find my dad still there. “Lock the door, honey. It
is
New York,” he said. I gave him a quick hug and noticed my mom hanging back. She blew me a kiss and I closed the door, locking it. “Thank you,” my dad said from the other side of the door.

I walked back into the living area of the apartment. This was my new home. I was an independent woman living in New Freakin’ York!

“Woo-hoo!” I squealed to no one but myself, while doing a happy dance with a sudden burst of energy. I surveyed the neutral tones of the room. Tan walls, beige sofa with cream-colored throw pillows, a cozy oversized chair with a subtle satin stripe pattern. The bedroom was much the same with neutral cream colors. I quickly decided that I’d petition my parents for some decorating funds to add some color. Maybe wall prints, new throw pillows, maybe a blanket or two, some accessories like candles and whimsical things. And definitely some personal pictures.

I made a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich and considered my new living situation in peace and quiet. I was looking forward to the quiet. Lucy, my roommate, was great, but she was not quiet. She was an activist, often prattling on about a cause that she was trying to get me to sign on to, or yammering about the benefits of hot yoga, all the while playing new age music. It was like she couldn’t tolerate quiet. In the beginning of our freshman year, she was a vegetarian, and slowly became a vegan vegetarian, scrutinizing all the food I brought into the dorm. She was also an early riser. Not something I had ever been, although I’d have to learn now that I had a job.

With my last bit of strength, I took a shower, slipped into fresh undies and a cami, brushed my teeth, slid into my new bed; a queen-sized bed. Such a wonderful change from the single beds in the dorms. This was going to be heavenly.

A
fter the long drive bringing Phoebe to New York, and a tense twenty-four hours with Greg, I eagerly climbed out of the rented minivan at Ed Scott’s, and said ‘good-bye’ to Greg. If last night wasn’t enough, the past fourteen hours in his presence was probably the most excruciating thing I’ve done in a long time. Maybe more painful than labor. When I called Greg a few weeks ago to tell him that I was going to be driving Phoebe to New York and get her settled into the apartment, he decided to ‘tag along.’ He also asked if we could meet up the night before the drive to New York, and hash out some of the last minute details of our divorce settlement, which would be finalized in the next week, once he signed the papers and they were filed.

“We” decided to keep things quiet about the divorce to the kids until everything was finalized, and by “we” I meant “he.” When we met over coffee last night, I got the distinct impression that Greg was harboring some deep seated hope that I’d come back, that I would beg him to give me another chance. That was never going to happen. I had found my perfect match. Jack Stevens. Last night’s discussions put Greg straight. I hoped. It seemed like he understood, but today he sulked like a spoiled brat. I wanted nothing more than to tell Phoebe that I was also living in New York these days, at Jack’s place, and if she needed anything I was a quick subway ride away. But the more I thought about it, Greg’s plan to keep things quiet might not be a bad thing for now. I didn’t want to distract Phoebe as she started her internship. She seemed so happy to be living on her own.

So, I’d give into Greg’s little ruse for now. But once the divorce is final, we’d have to find a way to break it to the kids. And by “we,” I was probably meaning “me.”

F
riday I slept in until noon. No waking up to Lucy’s nutty, new age music. No classes to go to. Just me time. For breakfast I had some granola and yogurt, and a small pot of coffee. I enjoyed taking my time to bask in my newfound independence, and I pondered my past year and considered where things were heading.

With more than a little regret, I wished I had majored in something other than physics my freshman year. Granted, I did take an English and a history class for graduation requirement, so the year wasn’t entirely a loss.

Even minoring in dance was a mistake. I was an okay dancer, but I didn’t have the dedication needed, nor did I really have the body. I wasn’t overly heavy, but I didn’t have that lithe body that most of the dancers in the department had. I was a comfortable size 10 or 12, depending on the brand; I had a chest, a C+/D cup, and hips. So…a long ways off from my fellow dancers who wore between a size 0 and 4, and used to joke about having a body like a boy. Even so, I was comfortable in my body. I tried to be that skinny size 4 in high school, but my mother caught onto my developing ‘habits,’ and nipped the minuscule meals and over exercising in the bud. She helped me realize that everybody’s body is different. It all boiled down to DNA. She pointed out that I had a body shape similar to my father’s side. I had to agree—my body, in fact my whole appearance, was similar to my dad’s sisters and his mother. Tall-ish, somewhere between medium and heavy build, light blonde, wavy hair, and cornflower blue eyes.

One good thing came out of my freshman year; my newfound interest in Communications. Who knew that anything good would have come out of going out with Dickwad Danny Fitzsimmons? While our relationship started out hot and heavy, and seemed like a healthy relationship, looks were deceiving, even to someone smack in the middle of it. Then for the disastrous end… The spiteful part of me wished that I had video evidence of how horrible he was on that last day and could use it to ruin his potential career in communications. But the “Suzie Sunshine” side of me looked at the fact that I learned that communications as a major was more than writing. It started out with me going with Danny to a seminar that was mandatory for all Comm majors: Opportunities in Communications. He was bored and cracked jokes at many of the jobs that a communications major could do. He already had his mind set on being a sports reporter, convinced that his good looks and interest in sports would be enough. Mind you, he didn’t play any sports in college, and “only” played golf in high school, junior varsity—but he was confident “it would be fine.” Even though he was an ass during that seminar, I liked hearing about all the possible jobs. I also often sat in on his classes during my free time, which actually gave me further insight on a major that was becoming super interesting to me. Broadcasting for sure, but the production and public relations side of things also fascinated me. Even the legal side of media was intriguing.